And Then He Stayed The Night
by Firebird9
Summary: Pretty much what it says on the tin: Jack and Phryne spend the night together. Follows on from No Such Thing As Ghosts, but can be read as a stand-alone.


**And Then He Stayed The Night**

**Author: Firebird**

**Rating: M**. Yep, _definitely _M.

**Note:** This was written as a coda to 'No Such Thing As Ghosts', but can be read as a stand-alone.

...

Supper had, as always, been superb. Afterwards, Phryne and Jack had retreated to the living room for drinks whilst the rest of the household tidied away the dishes and gradually made their way to their beds. Now it was just the two of them sitting in the stillness of an otherwise-sleeping house exchanging long, slow kisses.

"I should go home," he told her, without much conviction.

"You know you don't have to."

Her husky tone left him in no doubt as to her meaning, and he felt his pulse quicken. It was too soon, a voice in his head argued. Their courtship was barely more than twenty-four hours old: to take it so far so soon would be foolishness. Their courtship had been going on for months, another voice replied: this was not a rushed moment of passion but the natural culmination of a slow, sweet dance that had been driving them both mad since the day they had met.

He was a cautious man, one who played by the rules and endeavoured to do the right thing. She was his polar opposite, a reckless and impulsive woman who learned the rules only in order to break them.

For once, he decided to throw caution to the wind. With his gaze locked firmly on hers, he nodded once.

"Alright."

For a moment, she was uncertain whether she had heard him correctly. He had always been so proper and restrained, so quick to maintain the boundaries that she was forever trying to cross, that his sudden capitulation threw her.

"Jack?"

"I'm through playing games, Phryne. I'm done with pretending that I don't love you." He slid his hand, which had been resting on her knee, up her thigh to her shapely buttock and pulled her closer. "That I don't want you."

Their next kiss was their most passionate yet, until Phryne tilted her head back, exposing her throat to his mouth, to say breathlessly, "in that case, perhaps a change of location is in order."

He didn't say anything in response, just stood and offered her his hand, letting her draw him towards the stairs and into her bedroom.

She closed the door behind them and they met in the middle of the floor, her hands quick to loosen his tie, his roaming restlessly up and down her back. He had never loved any woman but his wife before, and it had been a long time since he had been with her. Longer still since she had given herself to him with any measure of enthusiasm, and often he had given up in frustration rather than lie with a woman who had made it clear that she was merely fulfilling her marital duties.

There was no questioning Phryne's enthusiasm. Done with his tie, she turned her attention to the buttons of his jacket and waistcoat, slipping her hands underneath as soon as she was done to run them over his chest and back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He moaned as she pressed herself against him, shrugging out of the upper two pieces of his three-piece suit simultaneously, and she gave a breathy sigh of her own. There had been many men in her life, more than she cared to think about just now, men of every level of skill and tenderness. There had never before been Jack Robinson. There had never before been so much love mixed with her desire. It was a heady combination, and one which threw all her usual seductive games out of the window.

They fell together onto the bed, the tumble sudden and comical enough to make them both laugh breathlessly. Her blouse and his shirt were both undone, and she pushed his shirt the rest of the way down his arms, sending it to the floor.

"It'll crease, and I'll need it tomorrow," he muttered, but her hands were already stroking back over the firm muscles of his arms, and he swiftly lost all interest in his shirt. Her clothing, however, and particularly the silk camisole revealed beneath her blouse, was very interesting to him indeed.

She chuckled, a low, sultry sound, and pulled back from him long enough to shed her blouse and trousers. Her knickers were silk as well, and he moaned at the sight of them, drawing her back to him.

"Now that's not fair," she complained, and slipped her hands down to his belt buckle. He closed his eyes and swallowed as she undid his trousers.

"Shoes first," he managed as she began to push them down, and she glanced towards his feet.

"Shoes," she agreed, and he had a marvellous view of her back and the arch of her neck as she bent to untie first one and then the other. She was no more careful with his shoes and socks than she had been with his shirt, pulling them off and dropping them one by one onto the floor. His trousers followed almost immediately, and she pulled him back down on top of her.

He came to rest with the bulge of his erection pressed firmly between her thighs, and now he had to fight to restrain himself because he was perilously close to release. It really had been so long.

His singlet and her bra and camisole vanished, and then she pushed gently but insistently at his chest.

"One moment," she told him breathlessly, and he rolled aside, letting her up. She reached past him to the drawer of her nightstand and slipped out what he thought at first was a compact until she opened it and removed something he recognised as a female prophylactic.

"Unless you're desperate for the pitter-patter of little feet," she quipped, and he could only stare speechless as she spread her legs and manipulated the thing into position. "There." She reached out to him. "All ready."

"You are," he managed as their underwear disappeared, "the most amazing woman."

He sank into her and they moved together, their bodies as naturally in sync as their minds had always been whenever they worked a case. Their movements swiftly quickened, until Phryne suddenly tilted her head back and gasped. For one terrible moment he thought he had hurt her somehow, but then he felt her spasm and quiver around him, and thought disappeared into climax.

She felt the resistance go out of his muscles and pulled him down on top of her as he experienced what the French called 'la petite mort'. She turned her face into his neck and kissed him, loving the scent of his skin, the feeling of his body against hers.

"God, Phryne," he whispered, kissing her neck, and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him to lie with her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped firmly around her body.

She looked up at him, searching his face. Some men slept afterwards, or were so lost in their own satisfaction that they might as well have been asleep, but he seemed alert, if deeply relaxed. She smiled. That would work for what she had in mind next.

She kissed him to get his attention and, holding his gaze, took his hand and guided it down her body. He tilted his head to one side and frowned slightly, silently asking her what she was doing, but she just smiled at him and positioned his hand between her thighs.

He inhaled sharply at the feeling of her, the heat and wetness that he knew was a combination of the two of them together, and felt her hand move over his, manipulating his fingers to position them just so. Then, holding him firmly in place, she began to rock her hips against him.

He knew, because he had read of it in his endless quest for more information on every subject under the sun, that women could experience sexual pleasure every bit as intense as a man's. Indeed, some writers had pointed out, their pleasure was arguably greater since their orgasm was not tied to ejaculation and could therefore be repeated within a single encounter. He had not known, because he did not read those types of publications and his wife seemed to know no more about the subject than he did, just exactly what a woman's pleasure might look like, or how to bring it about. It seemed that he was about to learn.

After only a moment she gave a low gasp and rocked her head back, the warm flesh of her most intimate areas twitching convulsively against his fingers. She did not release him, and a moment later she began to move again. He was beginning to pick up on her rhythm and, as she felt him take up the motion, she released his hand and curled her fingers into the sheets instead.

Twice more she trembled and moaned, until eventually she opened her eyes and gently stilled his hand.

"I've never done that before," he admitted, then broke off with a splutter as she brought his hand up to her mouth and slowly licked his fingers.

"Mmm, then you're a fast learner," she replied between long strokes of her tongue.

"There's only one problem," he told her.

"Oh, and what might that be?" she enquired, and he flicked his eyes meaningfully down his body.

"I want you again."

She chuckled her low, delicious laugh and turned into his body, throwing one leg over him.

"Do you now?"


End file.
